


The Dinner Guest

by kishiriaz



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors
Genre: Depression, Domestic Fluff, Multi, Vampirism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:44:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2316470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kishiriaz/pseuds/kishiriaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sanguinius and Fulgrim agree they can't let Konrad Curze just starve and freeze. Part 4 of The Retirement AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dinner Guest

Horus was snoring. He’d been snoring for two hours or so, during which time Sanguinius had only managed to doze through the noise. This had been going on for months, with increasing volume and frequency.

Sanguinius normally slept on his stomach, so he grabbed a pillow and wrapped it around his head. It cut the noise slightly. He closed his eyes and stilled his breathing, trying to lull himself into perhaps an hour more of sleep. His thoughts quieted, and he felt himself drifting off.

Horus farted and jumped in his sleep, having startled himself. He muttered something, then settled down again and resumed snoring.

That was that. Sanguinius stood and grabbed his bathrobe, tossing it over the pyjama bottoms he wore to sleep. He went downstairs to the shared great room to sleep on the couch.

It was already occupied. Fulgrim was stretched out, rolled in a blanket. He opened his eyes as Sanguinius came downstairs.

“Oh, it’s you. I thought it might be one of the kids.”

Sanguinius walked back to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “I can’t sleep. Horus needs to do something about his snoring. I’ve been on firing ranges that were quieter than him.” He took out some meat and cheese and made himself a sandwich. “What brings you down here?”

Fulgrim sat up. “I just didn’t feel like sleeping, so I watched a movie and fell asleep after. I didn’t want to wake up Ferrus. I think he’s stolen all my sleep from me, because he sleeps now and I don’t.”

Sanguinius sat down beside Fulgrim with his sandwich. “It’s about an hour until dawn. I’m going to finish this and go out to the woods. What do you want me to bring back?”  
“One of those wild turkeys, if you see one, but anything is good. There’s room in the freezer if you bring in a deer.”

Sanguinius nodded. “It’s Juli’s turn to get eggs from the back yard. I don't mind if she and Felicity trade chores, but she is not to foist it off on her cousin."

“It’s that Lupercal charisma. Juli gets it from your husband.”

Sanguinius stood. “I’ll let you know if I’ll be home for breakfast.”

Sanguinius went upstairs and dressed in his usual hunting outfit, a set of black Astartes workout fatigues, soft rubber-soled boots and a close-fitting leather jacket that had been made specifically for him, to accommodate his wings. He picked up some green and brown mottled canvas and brought it downstairs.

He handed it to Fulgrim. “Help me case my wings?”

Fulgrim was well used to this. He tucked each wing into its pocket, then zipped the case closed. Sanguinius’s wings were a liability in the forest where the feathers caught on things and the brilliant white alerted prey to his presence. 

He selected a rifle from a gun safe in the front hallway and headed for his truck. It was a twenty minute drive to the place where he liked to enter the woods. 

The Eldar maiden world to which much of the Imperial family had retired had been chosen for its moderate climate and natural resources and landscape. Its unexploited territories meant that there was also a lot of wildlife, fish, and game. When they had moved to the maiden world, Sanguinius and Fulgrim had agreed that respectfully using the land for food would be a good value to instill in their daughters. Since Sanguinius had been hunting since he was a child, and he enjoyed it, he was the one in charge of providing the family’s meat.

He walked a few miles into the forest, found a tree by a creek, and climbed it. Once settled on a large branch, he loaded the rifle and waited. Sanguinius had discovered that his scent didn’t alarm the local animals, but his size and the involuntary motions of his wings did. 

Hunting also gave him time to think. It had been six years, almost seven, since the Emperor left Terra in the hands of the Council and said he would be retiring except for ceremonial duties. Horus, Sanguinius, and their daughter Juliana had joined the Emperor, as had Ferrus, Fulgrim, and their daughter Felicity. The four primarchs had moved into a large three-storey log duplex, with a shared ground floor containing a kitchen, family rec room, and dining room. 

The retired life wasn’t suiting Horus too well. He’d gained at least 75 kilos since they moved. Sanguinius blamed boredom. Ferrus Manus had developed a bit of a gut. This all put Fulgrim, the household chef, into a bad position. Fulgrim loved to cook, and he was superb at it. He had retained his svelte looks through balanced nutrition and exercise, and he didn’t want to have to restrict the food he prepared because Horus and Ferrus had poor self-control. Even Sanguinius had gained a few pounds around his torso despite his avian metabolism.

Sanguinius had a feeling that Horus just didn’t know what to do with himself. He was a general, and now there was no war. Once in a while he squeezed himself into his warplate to make an appearance on Terra or in front of his legion. Ferrus was concentrating on his forge, where he had always found purpose. Fulgrim had become devoted to the family, cooking, gardening, and raising the girls. Sanguinius was more than content to hunt and explore the forests. He was a tribesman at heart, and he had a tribe. All was well for him.

A graceful creature they had come to call a deer, even though it wasn’t exactly like a Terran one, stepped gingerly towards the creek. Sanguinius leaned forward and slowly raised his rifle. The deer lowered its head towards the water. Sanguinius tucked the butt of the rifle against his shoulder and aligned the sights. This was another reason he cased his wings; they would be moving around of their own accord in response to the tension in his body. He aimed at the joint of the deer’s upper foreleg and chest, exhaled, and pulled the trigger.

One shot, one kill. The deer dropped, dead instantly. Sanguinius dropped from the branch and leaped over the creek, landing at the deer’s side. He placed his right hand over his heart, then on the deer’s head.

“Thank you for providing food to my family,” he murmured to it in Secundan.

After that, he slung the deer over his shoulders (the canvas case also kept blood out of his feathers) and went back to his truck. The next stop was Konrad’s house.

Konrad Curze was not a friend. He was too broken, too dangerous. He was still tribe, though, and Sanguinius would not abandon him. Konrad’s house was a simple wooden house with a peaked roof. The windows were all boarded over. Sanguinius went to the covered porch and tied the deer’s back hooves together securely so that he could hang it. He placed a large plasteel bucket under it and started the messy task of dressing the animal.

By the end of the procedure, Sanguinius had two buckets of blood and a large tub of entrails. He gazed down at the buckets before shaking himself, then covered them and placed them beside the front door. When he returned after his next hunt, he expected to find the buckets and tub empty and clean. The day he returned and found them untouched, he knew he would have to go looking for his insane brother.

There was a water spigot on the side of the house, so he washed the blood off his hands and arms before getting the bag of meat and going home. He heard a noise in the basement and looked to one of the ground-level windows. He thought he saw some movement, but couldn’t be sure and didn’t want to pry. 

Back at the house, Fulgrim was standing over a large mixer as it whipped egg whites into stiff peaks. He mixed in cheese and a small glass bowl of herbs he’d cut from the little garden by the side of the house. He was starting to clean up when Sanguinius came in, carrying a cooler.

“What did you get?”

He opened the cooler to display the skinned and butchered deer. “Venison. The skin is in the back of my truck; I’ll get it next.”

“I want to try curing one of these thighs,” Fulgrim told him. “I read about how to do it.”

“You’re the expert. I’m going to go shower."

Sanguinius was bathing when he heard Horus enter the room. He smiled as Lupercal stepped into the large tiled room that served as their shower stall. “Good morning, dearest.”

“Morning, San.” Horus kissed him. “You’ve been out already?”

“Brought in a deer. You should come with me one of these mornings.”

“I have other ideas for spending our morning.” Horus slipped his arms around Sanguinius’s back, under his wings. 

“Is Juliana awake yet?” Sanguinius asked, rolling the soap around in his hands.

“Ugh. You’re right. Still.” Horus nuzzled his neck. 

“What are you planning on doing today?” Sanguinius said, handing him the soap.

“I thought I would help Zeke and the boys over at the bakery.”

Sanguinius rolled his eyes. He knew perfectly well that Horus did nothing at the Four Jacks Bakery other than eat pastries and joke with Tarik Torgaddon as Garviel Loken and Aximand did most of the work. “Bring back a few loaves, then.”

“I will.” Horus scrubbed himself as Sanguinius stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist.

Shortly after, they were downstairs again. The princesses Juliana and Felicty, age 11, were at the table already, eating wedges of soufflé with toast. They looked like twins in their school uniforms, wearing their hair identically in single braids. Juliana’s hair was a rich reddish-brown while Felicity’s was a dark blonde, halfway between Ferrus’s black hair and Fulgrim’s silver-white. Ferrus sat at the table in a wrap-around sleeveless shirt and jeans. A newspaper from Terra was in his silver hands. Fulgrim placed two more plates on the table for his other co-parents and fetched the caf pot.

“Morning, dears,” Fulgrim said, sitting down himself. 

The Lupercals exchanged greetings with Fulgrim. Ferrus grunted. Felicity and Juliana looked at each other and giggled at a private joke.

Felicity broke the ice further. “Juli and I were talking about the summer. Could we maybe spend it with cousin Skadhi in Tizca?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Fulgrim said, adding milk to his tea. 

“I can talk to—“

“No,” Sanguinius said, cutting off Horus mid-sentence. “Absolutely not. Maybe in five years, but you two are too young for Tizca.”

Ferrus lowered his paper. “Definitely too young.” He raised the paper and resumed reading.

The girls looked downcast and finished their breakfasts. They took their dishes to the sink, ran upstairs to finish getting ready for school, then came downstairs to pull their lunches out of the refrigerator. Fulgrim took that as his cue to follow them around, making sure they had their backpacks and homework and anything else they needed. The two princesses then made the rounds of the table, kissing their fathers and uncles on the cheek, and rushed out the door. The four primarchs heard Juliana calling out to Hestia Dorn, who was outside.

“Why too young for Tizca?” asked Fulgrim. 

“Yes, why?” Horus asked. “They could take classes with Skadhi.”

“Skadhi is a psyker,” Sanguinius told him. “Our girls aren’t. There isn’t anything Magnus could teach them.”

“We could bring Skadhi here,” Ferrus said, changing out the main section of the paper for the sports section. “I agree with San. Tizca is a party town and no daughter of mine is heading for a place where non-monogamy is the norm.”

“No daughter of mine, either,” Sanguinius agreed. “Maybe I’m prejudiced against anything but monogamy after living on Secundus.”

“Not every non-monogamy is a situation skewed against women,” Horus said.

“No, but I can see their point,” Fulgrim said, picking at some fruit salad. “Magnus once tried to count how many spouses he had and lost track at five. All of whom had multiple spouses of their own, and he wasn’t sure if he was married to any of them or not.”

“Forget it,” Ferrus concluded. “If they want to see Skadhi, she can visit.”

“You know,” Sanguinius said, “we could always threaten them with a nice long visit to their uncle Roboute’s palace on Macragge.”

“Ferrus peered at him. “You’re mean.”

Horus laughed. “It’ll ensure they study hard and do all their chores!”

“You are all awful,” Fulgrim told them, and then smiled. “Further threaten to send Uncle Lorgar along on the space voyage.”

That elicited a round of laughter from the table, and they continued having breakfast in peace.

A week later, morning almost didn’t dawn. Sanguinius woke up naturally, then jumped when he realized how late it was. Horus was of course still fast asleep. The day outside was dark and raining hard, so Sanguinius dressed as quickly as he could and hastened downstairs.

Fulgrim was also up and dressed, drinking coffee with all the lights on. “You are not going out in this, are you?” he asked Sanguinius.

Sanguinius handed him a pile of oiled fabric. “I get to try out the waterproof case for my wings. I have to go out. I laid a bunch of fish traps yesterday, and I don’t want them to break loose when the creek rises. This is an experiment.”

“I think you’re crazy, but all right. I know what’s for dinner.”

Sanguinius threw on a raincape, pulled up the hood and headed outside.

It was wet, and it was cold, and his guess had been right. The creek was now a torrent that roared over the rocks in the creekbed. The ropes for the fish traps were holding for now. He reached out gloved hands for them and pulled them in. They were full of big silver and pink fish. Sanguinius hauled the trap out and slung it over his shoulder, getting a gout of icy cold water down his back for his troubles. He mentally resolved to pay more attention to the weather before doing this again.  
Still, it was a considerable load, and he got them into the ice chest before most of the fish died. Sanguinius wanted to get home and into dry clothes with a cup of something hot, but The Right Thing To Do still loomed ahead. 

Clean plastic buckets stood on the covered porch of Konrad’s house. Collecting some water was beyond easy, and Sanguinus dropped some particularly large fish into it. He was making sure none of them were already dead when he felt someone watching him.

He looked up. Konrad stood at the other end of the porch. No one had seen him in months, and he was gaunt and looked cold. He was barefoot, dressed in a ragged black shirt and pants of some kind. His skin was so white as to show the veins clearly, and his all-black eyes were a frightening contrast. 

“Angel,” he said.

“Konrad. I didn’t—“

“Konrad’s not here.”

Sanguinius took a deep breath, centered himself. There was a boltpistol on his belt, under the rain cape but he desperately did not want to use it. “Night Haunter. I never thought I’d see you in the daytime.”

“I like this daytime.” He grinned, showing pointed teeth. “Doesn’t hurt my eyes. What did you bring me?”

“Fish.”

“Bah.” Almost too fast for thought, the Haunter shot across the porch, pushed Sanguinius aside, and grabbed one of the fish. He bit into its belly and chewed. “I take that back. This is rather tasty. You know, I always wondered if your wings tasted like chicken or human.”

“I’m not going to let you find out.”

“Didn’t think so.” He continued to eat the fish, peeling the skin back and biting at the translucent flesh. He paused to dig out its eyes with his sharp fingernails and eat them. “This is the best part. The eyeballs. Yum.”

“Enjoy.” 

Sanguinius was going to leave at that point, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that Night Haunter was shivering violently as he ate. 

“Night Haunter?”

The black eyes focused on him. “Hm?”

“May I speak to Konrad?”

The Haunter waved his hand dismissively. “Konrad is a bore.”

“So am I.”

“True. What do you want to talk to him about? I’ll give him the message.”

“I think Konrad would really like a hot meal and some warm clothes. Do you even have heat in there?”

“We burn things sometimes.”

 _Well that sounds safe._ “I’d like to talk to Konrad myself.” He remembered not to add “Please” to the request.

“Oh, all right. You do feed us.” He threw the fish bones onto the floor and stood with his head hanging. A moment later, Konrad wrapped his arms around himself and his teeth started chattering. 

“Nashhhhheh…” He looked over at Sanguinius. “What are you doing here? What am I doing here? It’s fucking cold.”

“I came to bring you some fish.”

“I seem to have eaten one.”

Sanguinius pulled his rain cape over his head and slipped it on over Konrad’s. “I’m taking you home with me. A hot bath and a homecooked meal from Fulgrim await. On the way, I’ll fill you in on what your alter ego has been telling me.”

Sanguinius called ahead to the house, alerting Fulgrim that they were having company . Fulgrim met them at the front door, and immediately steered Konrad onto a large towel on the floor. Fulgrim pulled the rain cape off him and replaced it with a fleece blanket as Konrad obediently wiped his feet on the towel.

“Upstairs,” Fulgrim said. “San can handle the fish. I’ve already started running a hot bath for you.”

Fulgrim led Konrad up the flight of stairs leading to the Manus household. The tub in the hallway bathroom was almost full, steaming in the cooler air. Konrad immediately began stripping off his ragged clothes, apparently unconcerned with Fulgrim’s presence. Every bone was visible on his nearly-hairless body, and the only colour on Konrad’s skin was from bruises in various shades of blue and green and the greyish-red of abrasions.

Konrad settled into the water, saying nothing, just reaching for the bar of soap in the holder beside the tub.

Fulgrim snatched up the discarded rags and went back downstairs. He walked through the kitchen to the garage door and threw them in the garbage can.

Sanguinius came down soon after, having showered and put on fresh clothes. He was in jeans and a sweater Leman Russ had knit him one winter solstice, having realized that a cardigan modified to button at the back would be perfect for the Angel. He reached for the carafe of caf and fetched himself some bread rolls and fruit. “How’s our guest?”

Fulgrim sat down with him at the table. “We can’t let him live on his own.”

“Oh?”

“He’s malnourished and looks like he fell down a mountain or something. He’s scraped up and bruised and skeletal. I don’t know what’s going on with him.”

Sanguinius nodded. “I had to ask Night Haunter to let me talk to Konrad. I have a theory that Konrad refuses to take care of himself, and that Night Haunter takes over when Konrad can’t deal with the physical misery anymore.”

“I’ve gone past his place,” Fulgrim said. “I take him casseroles and leave them by the front door. I can understand why the windows are all boarded up; the sun is painful to him. Corax has the same problem. Corax has blackout curtains, though. He lives like a normal person. If we went into Konrad’s place, I don’t think we would see anything…normal.”

He looked up. “I should get some clothes for him. I think mine will fit. Do me a favour and heat up a mug of milk. I’ll give him some hot cocoa when he comes down.”

Not long after, Fulgrim came back downstairs. Konrad followed, dressed now in black and white robes. He sat at the table and accepted the mug of cocoa from Sanguinius. Fulgrim brought over a plate of every leftover they had in their refrigerator and Konrad tore into it.

Sanguinius and Fulgrim were scaling and gutting fish when Ferrus came in. He took one look at Konrad and asked, “What’s he doing here?”

“We’ll talk upstairs.” Fulgrim took one of Ferrus’s silver hands and led him away.

Konrad pushed aside his plate and went to stand beside Sanguinius. He observed what the Blood Angel was doing, then rolled up his sleeves, picked up Fulgrim’s discarded knife, and began to expertly filet the fish. 

“They’ll throw me out,” Konrad began conversationally.

“I don’t know what will happen. The four of us have to make decisions as a group.”

“Can’t imagine that fat husband of yours will want me around.”

“It’s not like you have nowhere to go,” Sanguinius said, ignoring the jab at Horus. “You have a house. You just need to heat it and keep it full of food. I shouldn’t have to rescue you from your own home.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because I’m a primitive tribesman from a horrible desert planet, and this is how we live. You’re a street urchin from a horrible urban planet. You’re used to fending for yourself, but you don’t have to. You can come to us for anything you need, Konrad. There’s no need to go it alone.”

“You’re a fine one to speak.” Konrad finished fileting the last fish and carefully laid the knife down. 

“What?”

Konrad grabbed a tea towel and wiped his hands. “He still cheats on you, you know. Even though Horus is a big fat ass now, he still has Luna Wolves throwing themselves at him.”

Sanguinius glowered. “The Mournival?”

“Nah. Well, Abaddon sometimes. Some of the lower-down captains. “

“How do you know that?”

Konrad shrugged. “I see a lot. “

Sanguinius turned away. “I think perhaps you should leave. Bringing you here was a mistake.”

“I don’t lie, Sangy. I have many faults, but lying is not one of them.” Konrad stepped forward and put an arm around Sanguinius’s shoulders. “I’ve watched you from the shadows for a long time. We both know you’re half-animal. It’s just visible with you.”

“Stop.”

Konrad pulled back his sleeve and bit into his own wrist with his sharpened teeth. Blood welled up and he held his arm out under Sanguinius’s nose. Sanguinius cringed.

“Quick, Sangy, before it clots. You know you want to.”

Sanguinius’s pupils dilated. He opened his mouth and his fangs became visible. He grabbed Konrad’s wrist and applied his mouth to the wound.

“There you go.” Konrad’s voice had changed to a low purr. “Night Haunter knows what you need. I know about the chickens you’ve exsanguinated in the yard, and the times you’ve sipped from the bucket of blood before leaving it for me. You hate yourself for it, you poor thing, but no one knows but me.”

Sanguinus shoved his arm away and wiped at his mouth with his sleeve. “I hate you.”

“Don’t hate me, little angel. Hate Horus. Hate this artificial life you’ve created for yourself, sleeping beside that husband who can’t keep himself fit for you, while chasing after moon-eyed Astartes. You’re the predator in this family, but all they see in you is a provider.” He stroked Sanguinius’s cheek. “We do have a bed in our house. It’s in a room Konrad keeps clean. He has blankets and sheets he’s never unwrapped. If you’re so worried about keeping us warm, you could do it every night, if you wanted.”

They both started at the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. They hastily returned to placing the slices of fish into a container, and pretended nothing had just happened.

Later that night, Horus was quietly reading a dataslate in the living room when Sanguinius came in. The winged primarch sat down beside Horus and said, “The Night Haunter said some things to me that worry me a lot.”

Horus put away the slate. “Tell me.”

Sanguinius looked at him. “He told me you were cheating on me with Abaddon and some of your captains. Not the rest of the Mournival, though.”

Horus was silent. “I am not cheating on you. Yes, I’ve had affairs in the past, but so have you. Since our family-making, I have been scrupulously faithful.”

Sanguinius exhaled and nodded. “All right. It’s just that there are rumours, and not just from Night Haunter…”

"Don’t listen to them. Don’t you EVER listen to them!” Horus exclaimed. “We are the objects of lust and jealousy like few others experience. Of course there are going to be rumours. Gossip is the plague of our legions, especially since now they are in garrison, and bored.”

Sanguinius nodded. “All right. I believe you.” He looked at the floor for a moment and then said, “Night Haunter also really played on my blood thirst. He knew all about that. I don’t know how.”

Horus cursed in Cthonian. “I have a feeling he spies on us sometimes. A few times I’ve thought that I’ve glimpsed him in the trees, or the shadows. He’s not like Corax, who can just go invisible. Well. Now we know.”

“Night Haunter and Konrad also apparently have a crush on me. Night Haunter offered me blood, and said that Konrad has clean sheets and blankets and a bed to share with me.“

Horus glowered as none other than the Warmaster could.

“I knew your kindness would be exploited.”

“It was the right thing to do, but it isn’t anymore. He really…he really knows how to remind me that I’m a monster. Half animal, he called me.”

“Sanguinius, stop.”

“I can’t deny it,” Sanguinius scoffed. “I’m a feathered freak, and I’m hungry for blood. “

“Stop.”

“I should be the third empty plinth in the Investiary. You know that, I know that—“

“I said stop!” Horus seized Sanguinius’s face in his hands.

“Baba? Dad?” a small female voice said. They both turned to see Juliana, wearing a bathrobe over her pajamas, standing in the doorway. “You woke me up?”

“I’m sorry, princess,” Horus said, going over and kneeling to hug her.

“Are you and Baba mad at each other?”

“No,” Horus said firmly. “Someone said something very mean to Baba and now Baba is feeling sad and hurt. I am telling him he doesn’t need to feel that way, and I guess I got carried away.”

Felicity nodded, then walked over to Sanguinius where he was perched on the couch. She kissed his cheek. “Anybody who says anything to make you sad and hurt isn’t worth an ork turd,” she stated firmly.

Sanguinius barked out a surprised laugh and hugged his daughter. “No, haviva, you’re right. I’m being very silly. Even grownups are, sometimes.”

“Go back to bed, Juli. Your Baba and I need to finish this talk.”

Juliana nodded, kissed Horus, and went back to her room. They waited until they heard her bedroom door close before continuing.

“I think,” Horus began, “that I need to gather the Mournival and have a chat with Konrad. The lads will welcome the activity.” He pulled his vox out of the pocket of his trousers.  
“No, don’t do that,” Sanguinius said. “Not now, and maybe not ever.”

“San, what Konrad did was unforgivable.”

“I agree, but,” Sanguinius shrugged and his wings trembled. “I just really need to have you here, right now.”

Horus nodded, put the vox away, and gathered Sanguinius into his arms. “I love you, silly feathered person. I hope you realize that.”

Sanguinius nodded into the flannel of Horus’s shirt. Despite everything, life made sense once again.

 

Someone was pounding on the front door.

Konrad huddled in the closet. One of the bedrooms had a closet that was perfect for hiding himself; large enough that he could curl in it but not so large that he felt exposed. He spent his days drowsing, dressed in torn black combat fatigues and swaddled in a sleeping bag. Normally, this was safe, but someone was pounding on his front door downstairs.

“Konrad! Konrad Curze! Let me in, it’s Leman Russ!”

You know what he’s here for, the Night Haunting whispered in Konrad’s mind.

Konrad nodded. He reached out a bony hand for the hunting knife in the corner. He’d lifted it from Sanguinius one morning when the Angel wasn’t looking. Sanguinius had lots of admirable hunting knives.

The pounding continued.

 _Go face him_ , Night Haunter said. 

Curze pulled himself out of the sleeping bag and padded silently down the stairs on bare feet. The pounding continued.

“Curze! Don’t make me break this door down!”

Konrad slipped shadowlike to the space behind the door. The rooms of the house were all dark, the windows boarded over. He knew the Space Wolves could see in the dark, but not as well as a Night Lord, he was willing to bet. He grasped the hunting knife in a combat grip and let his hand hang at his side.

There was a crash at the door, and the center of it splintered inward. Curze raised the knife. He could hear two other voices, whispering outside. The door crashed inward again, allowing in a ceramite boot. Curze darted from his place towards the black hallway on the other side of the room. As he rounded a corner into the dark kitchen, the door came completely off its hinges and Leman Russ stood in the middle of the living room. His reddish-blond braids fairly bristled away from his head and his fangs were bared. Behind him was a Space Wolf Curze didn’t know and…

 _That pansy Fulgrim_ , the Night Haunter mentally spat. The Phoenician was in his full purple armour, the sunlight from outside gleaming on the Aquila on his shoulder. Curze hissed and hurled himself down the basement stairs. He could hear the two primarchs and the Marine stomping around upstairs. Curze ran to the stairs he’d built out of pallet wood that took him to the basement window. He shoved aside the piece of tarpaulin he’d nailed over his escape route, winced at the light, and dove through the narrow opening.

The sunlight hurt his skin and eyes. Curze raised a hand to his face to try to cut the light, and took a few steps forward before he was knocked to the ground.

“Got you,” said Angron’s voice. Another pair of hands slid a pair of dark goggles over his eyes, restoring his vision. Angron, dressed in full armour, held him on the ground as a helmeted Corvus Corax knelt to assist the gladiator. Corax had been the one to put the dark goggles on his eyes, Curze thought. He’d be the one sure to do it.

“Don’t hurt him,” said a deep female voice. Angron and Corax each took one of Curze’s arms, keeping him seated on the ground. Curze could now see that the Space Wolf with Russ and Fulgrim was a very tall woman, her deep red hair braided into a crown around her head. 

Fulgrim knelt, in order to be at Curze’s eye level. “Konrad, we are intervening. You can’t go on like this. We know the only thing you’re eating is what Sanguinius brings you, and he is beyond angry with you after that pass you made at him a couple of months ago.”

“He’s too good for Horus,” Curze snarled.

“And you’d be better? Your house smells like a cross between a septic pool and a garbage tip. It’s filthy, you’re filthy, and you’re close to starving.”

“You’re coming back to Fenris with me,” Russ announced.

Curze looked up at him. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

“No,” assembled primarchs said in unison.

“I need my armour,” Curze told them. “My weapons, too. I don’t suppose you’ll bring my crown and cloak.”

“We’ll bring all your personal effects,” the woman assured him. She nodded over her shoulder and three squads of Space Wolves emerged from the woods. She spoke to them in Fenrisian, and they all put on their helmets. One squad went up the porch steps and into the house while the other two took up guard positions around Curze. Two Wolves in Terminator plate grabbed his wrist and shoulder at each side while the others provided backup. 

Curze tried to struggle as they marched him into a waiting car, then realized in horror that the other primarchs had a point. He wasn’t strong enough to break the grip of the Astartes. He couldn’t bite or spit or fight back in any way. He’d lost his knife in the basement. The horror continued to sink in as the speeder took them to the airstrip where a VI Legion Stormbird awaited him.

The guards removed his goggles inside the Stormbird, which was pleasantly dark inside. They strapped Curze in, then seated themselves with him, helmets on, bolters at the ready. The woman had told them not to hurt him. Curze would have preferred if they did. Cruelty, he understood.

He was taken to the Hrafnkel and escorted to a reproduction of a suite of caves. It was soothingly dark, with the only illumination provided indirectly by lumens placed strategically behind the artificial stalagmites. The Astartes shoved him into a chair where a barber servitor came forward to efficiently clip his nails. From there Curze was taken into a room with a bathing pool. The water was hot; steam was rising off it. There were shelves of towels, shampoos, and soaps with an array of bathing implements whose purposes were completely alien to him. 

The barber servitor followed them in, then tore Curze’s clothes off him. A cleaning servitor appeared to remove them. The room was too warm to shiver, and when the Astartes nudged him down the steps into the water, it was actually rather pleasant. The servitor lowered to its knees, hosed hot water onto Curze’s head, and began to wash his hair.

As the servitor was rinsing Curze’s hair for the third time, Leman Russ himself entered the bathroom, accompanied by the red-haired woman. Both dropped the white robes they were wearing and unhesitatingly slipped into the water. Curze did his best to avert his eyes. He knew Russ wouldn’t mind if Curze let his gaze settle on him, but the woman was unknown and thus dangerous.

Russ sank into the water and let it soak his braids, then stood and came over to Konrad. Russ waved the servitor away. Curze took a moment to study the Wolf King. He was not as tall as Curze, but he was heavily muscled, the lines of his muscles softened by a layer of fat. His body was remarkably hirsute. All Curze could see of the woman was her head, still crowned with braids, and her pale, lightly freckled shoulders.

“Are you enjoying your bath, brother?” Russ asked.

Curze hesitated, then said, “It’s very warm, and thus agreeable.”

“Excellent, because you stank like a corpse. Your clothes have been burned. Others will be provided for you.”

Curze said nothing.

“Ah. Where are my manners?” Russ asked. “Welcome to my flagship, Konrad. Allow me to present to you my wife, Sigrun.” Russ gestured and the woman swam closer in. “She is my Wolf Queen.”

“Welcome to the Hrafnkel,” she said. Konrad tried to look slightly above her head, as her breasts were floating in the warm water. It didn’t seem to bother her. At a gesture, a young woman in a long linen dress and apron to match came over with a pitcher and a covered tray. Sigrun filled a drinking horn and handed it to Konrad, then did the same for her husband and finally herself.

Russ lifted his horn. “Skal. I drink to your health, Konrad.”

The drink within was potent beyond belief, warming Konrad’s throat and belly and immediately filling him with a sense of relaxed well-being. Russ grinned a fangy grin at him and said, “The mjod appears to agree with you.”

“It’s…nice,” Konrad told him.

“Finish cleaning up. If you’d like another drink, we’ll pour you one. “

“There’s a meal waiting for you,” Sigrun said.

After finishing his bath, Konrad got out of the pool and put on a white tunic and dark-red trousers brought to him by a servitor. He followed Sigi down hallways to a large, tunnel-like kitchen where dozens of cooks minded animals roasting in enormous fireplaces. They paused to curtsy to Lady Sigrun, who directed Konrad to sit at a wooden table in a corner. With her own hands, she brought him a gigantic pork roast, potatoes, and a whole loaf of bread.

“Eat. From the looks of you, you’ve been starving.”

Konrad picked up the pork and sank his teeth into it. The meat was flavoured with garlic and herbs and the grease streamed down his chin. He grabbed the bread and bit into it, wiping up the grease and consuming it that way. The potatoes were hot and tender. 

“Best food I’ve ever had,” he told her between mouthfuls. “Delicious.”

“There’s pie when you’re done.”

The pie was made with dried fruits and some wine. Konrad kept stuffing himself until his stomach hurt. He put down the crust and said, “I think I’m done. I’ve never eaten so much in my life, but it was so good. Even as king of Nostramo I never ate like that.”

“That’s everyday food around here.”

“Mm.” Konrad was almost purring. “Russ is a lucky man.”

“If you’re done, I’ll show you to your room.”

The chamber looked tiny at first, just a space less than two meters deep with a sink and mirror on the right. “Where do I sleep?” he asked.

Sigrun pointed to a handle in the middle of the wall across from the door. She pulled it, revealing a bed that filled the space within. “Bed closet. Very common on Fenris because it’s warm and private.” She pulled down the furs on the bed, which had linen sheets and pillows beneath the furs. “I hope this serves you well. There’s a vox inside if you want to let Leman and I know you need something.”

Once Sigrun was gone, Konrad considered his circumstances. He was clean and full and starting to become sleepy. If this was a trap, at least he’d die comfortable. He stripped off his clothing and lay in the bed. The linen was smooth against his skin. He slid the door closed and the resulting enclosure felt tiny and safe. There was even a lock, which he fastened. It was dark and warm and he rolled himself into the covers, pulling one of the furs over his head.

**Author's Note:**

> This is setting up for some fiction not by me! This is a bunch of ficlets strung together; one section was the result of two prompt memes. I'm not writing literature; I'm just having fun.


End file.
